


The Mark

by KrazyK85



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-21 13:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrazyK85/pseuds/KrazyK85
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabella Swan is a well-trained assassin, code name Phoenix. She's the best of the best and people call her when they have a problem that needs a bullet in the head. She's a ghost and doesn't exist and can accomplish a hit without ever being seen.<br/>Her life is her own.<br/>A big pay out comes her way when she is hired to take out a wealthy heir to a rival company of the powerful Marcus Volturi. The target is a young, smart, and handsome, Edward Cullen. Phoenix is told to kill him, but there is one small catch.<br/>She has get close to him, but how close is too close? As she stalks her prey, getting deeper and deeper into his world, she soon realizes that there are some things that even she can't control...her heart.<br/>In the end, it doesn't matter how good her aim is, some targets are just too hard to hit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**_ Prologue _ **

I slowly part the curtains, moving them less than an inch. It's enough to get my gun in position on the ledge of the window, but still keep me hidden from view.

I am not to be seen.

I am merely a ghost—an entity that is easily forgotten.

I don't exist.

But even if I am merely a figment of someone's imagination, I still have to breathe the air to sustain my life, and I have my orders to follow.

In fact, my instructions for today are very clear. I am to establish a secure vantage point and take out my target.

He’s an heir to a company that rivals my employer. If I am to assassinate this man, his company will perish into the vast abyss, and my boss will become powerful beyond belief.

He will practically be God-like in the corporate world.

For my part in this business venture, I am set to gain five hundred thousand dollars, to which will immediately be wired to my recently opened bank account.

It's _easy_ money.

Crouched on the third floor of a quaint, vacated bed and breakfast, I sit in waiting. It's completely secluded, overlooking the cobblestone streets of Montepulciano, Italy.

The patrons that normally occupy this hotel are out and about, marveling the sites, and leaving me a place to accomplish my job in silence.

The Italian countryside is quite beautiful, and my target is on vacation with his _beloved_ fiancé. They are celebrating their engagement and have plans to be married this coming fall.

They are extremely happy and head over heels in love.

But their happiness is coming to an abrupt end because people, _important_ people, want my target dead.

They hired me to make it happen, and like any good employee, I intend do just as I am told. The only thing I am waiting on is further directions from my contact.

I was sent on this assignment at last minute, and it is known as a ' _Blind hit_ '.

I don't know when or where I am supposed to extinguish my mark, but I am to be ready for the final word.

The target is traveling around the globe with his fiancé and had been a lot harder for my employers to keep tabs on—more than any of them originally anticipated.

So, they waited.

They held off on their orders until his itinerary was confirmed by an inside man—a man who is close to the target, but who is also working for my employer as an informant.

This ' _spy'_ is getting paid millions of dollars for his keen information. He has been steadily keeping up with the targets whereabouts, but even with his close ties, things tend to turn to shit and don't always go as planned.

That is why I am here on a hard wooden floor, sweating bullets, and waiting for my contact to tell me when to shoot my mark.

"We are still holding, Phoenix," a voice blares from my ear piece.

"Copy," I reply.

My arm is starting to cramp from holding my gun upright. The butt of my XCR semi-automatic rifle in 7.62 thumper is digging into my shoulder. I wish I would have waited before I set up my gear, but I'd been so excited to use her when I saw her waiting for me in my room and I couldn't resist the urge to put her together.

Well, this is what I get for being overzealous and it's way too late to reposition myself now.

What's done is done.

"We have confirmation. He’s exiting the cafe. He’s wearing a blue shirt and khaki cargo pants. Go ahead and fire when ready." The voice is urgent.

"Copy that," I say.

Looking through my scope, I scan the sidewalk, searching for my mark. I am south of the cafe, about seven windows down, but it takes me less than a second to get him in my sight. My finger hovers over the trigger...hesitating briefly.

My first thought is to shoot him in the head, but I quickly dismiss it. It’s far too merciful of a death in my opinion. It's very quick and virtually painless, and normally it’s where I give my marks the last bit of my kindness. But today, I am a little tired and too sullen to be playing nice.

The plane ride here was the least bit comfortable and I had a bratty kid banging on the back of my seat the whole time, disrupting my sleep. On top of all that, this hit ruined my plans for the day. It’s the first time I am disgruntled over my job getting in the way of my personal life.

Six weeks ago, I had no personal life.

So, I decided if I couldn’t make the kid pay for his antics or rebel against my employers, I could at least get some satisfaction by aiming for my targets heart and letting him die slowly.

Painfully.

Moving up his body, I notice his boyish good looks.He's _young_ , obviously in his early to mid-twenties, and far too young to be marked.

However surprised I am by his youthful appearance, it’s not what keeps me from putting a bullet into his heart.

_I know this man._

"Pull the trigger. _Now_!" my contact shouts frantically at me.

The target's eyes scan the narrow street, looking for his town car and missing fiancé. I watch him through the scope of my gun, completely captivated by his fluent movements and unruly hair, rusted copper in color.

I breathe in through my nose, holding it in my lungs before slowly letting it out my mouth. The voice in my ear is shouting at me and ordering for me to kill him.

Closing my eyes for just a second, I regain my composure and focus, reminding myself that I have a job to do. Regardless if I knew this man—even loved this man—his life was already sold to the highest bidder…

 _Me_.

He’s out of luck and he’s out of time.

Reopening my eyes, I proceed to finish what I was hired to do. I decide that there is only one way to end all of the craziness and uncertainty that is my life.

I place my finger on the trigger and aim for his head.  


	2. The Competitor

** Chapter One **

**-The Competitor-**

**(Six weeks ago)**

The pretty receptionist had been staring at me for the past twenty minutes. My head was cast down and my dark hair was hiding my face from her view. I tried to act as though I didn’t notice that she was gawking at me, but I knew.

I always knew.

My eyes were focused solely on my hands that lay folded on my lap. They were grossly undersized and my calluses stuck out like a sore thumb, but they were made for durability and not for looks.

Examining my fingers closely, I noticed that the left over residue from my recent job was still caked underneath my nails with its foreign soil.

I'd been in Latin America for the past week, setting up camp on a mountain top, and shadowing my target. The long days and even longer nights weren't my exact idea of fun, but I was getting paid a large sum of money for my services. Even though my recon was a bit exhausting, it was a complete success and I was ready.

I was scheduled to fly back on Saturday. There was an arms dealer in a small village outside of Ecuador called Montañita, and he was holding my gun for me. Trying to get in and out of a country with weaponry wasn’t realistic and I usually bought what I needed at last minute. 

Not long after I've fired my gun and lodged one of my bullets into the ambassador's brain, a check will then be deposited into a nameless bank account. I'll be thirty thousand dollars richer way before I set foot back onto American soil.

All of my plotting and squatting in dirt will be well worth the fucking trouble.

But, man, I was tired. Even now, I was practically falling asleep in my chair.

The fact of the matter was that I've hadn't slept in nearly two days. I've only been in the states for about fifteen minutes when I got the call from Mr. Volturi. He told me that he had a big job for me and requested my presence immediately.

So naturally, any showering or sleeping for the day was put on the back burner.

Sighing quietly, I opened my eyes and stared down at my gold rings. They were four in total, and each band was extremely sentimental to me. They were my remembrance of a darker time in my life. It was my constant reminder not to forget who I was and where I came from.

In a twisted way, it kept me sane and grounded.

It took twenty-seven years of a fucked up existence to get me to where I was today—in this ostentatious office, sitting on a stiff and pristine leather sofa.

The countless foster homes I'd been in and out of since the age of nine were responsible for my strong sense of self-preservation.

I was a fighter.

After the third time of being fondled by my pseudo father figures, and the numerous beatings I took from their wives, I found myself really not giving a shit about the human condition.

The only life that mattered to me was my own, and I decided that I would kill just about anybody to protect that.

Luckily for me, there was a job out there that required a person with that sort of thinking. It had its benefits and it paid well...extremely well, in fact.

A contract killer was in high demand these days. The type of money that men in slick business suits threw at people to do their dirty work was mind-boggling.

They paid even more when you looked like me: petite, attractive, and unassuming.

But above all else, I was female.

I could sneak in and out of places without ever being seen. I could befriend a mark by gaining their trust with a simple bat of my eye lashes and then kill them in the very next second without hesitation.

My conscious was a contract that was rendered void. It was something I never really understood, but I was grateful for it because it made me a rarity.

Business men with greedy agendas wanted a killer without an ounce of remorse, and that was what I delivered to them in a cleanly and timely fashion.

By the time I was nineteen, I was on my fifth job, and was being paid a solid ten thousand for my precise killing skills.

It allowed me to build a life for myself...something that I'd never really had before then.

_God, talk about being a fucking cliché!_

The only good thing about not having a family was that my enemies had no real way of hurting me.

"Miss," the receptionist called.

I looked up and penetrated her with my gaze. She immediately shrunk back into her seat as she pointed towards the double doors.

"He'll...he'll...see...see you now," she stammered.

I stood up quietly, throwing my back pack over my shoulder, and staring her down as I walked past her desk. This time she looked at everything and anything  _but_  me.

Pushing open the doors with all my strength, I caught a glimpse of my employer and his associates.

He was sitting behind his desk with the left side of his body angled towards me and the right side angled towards his floor to ceiling sized windows.

His office was on the forty-eighth floor and had a heart-stopping view of Seattle. The space needle was within his direct line of sight, and it really was quite something to look at.

It was just too bad that many people who had disputes with my employer fell to their deaths with this gorgeous view being their very last.

But then again, it was quite a poetic way to die.

"Sit, my dear," he said, gesturing towards the one available seat.

Giving him a tight smile, I nodded my head and sat down.

It was eerily silent in his office, and I could faintly hear Chopin coming out of the overhead speakers.

_Winter wind...etude 11,_ I thought appreciatively.

"So, I have a job for you, Nix," he said, addressing me by one of my alias as he kept his black eyes locked with mine.

No one knew my real name and I intended on keeping it that way. It felt too personal for me to share that part of myself with these men—especially since they've already owned my soul.

"Okay. Who's the target?" I asked.

"His name is Edward Cullen. He is a wealthy heir to a rival company of mine. He's young and impulsive. It’s a big job, but the payout is even bigger," he told me.

The details were a bit sketchy, but they weren't a concern of mine. I was more about the bottom dollar.

"How much does it pay?" I asked bluntly.

He smiled, obviously enjoying my cold-hearted demeanor. "Five hundred thousand."

My jaw dropped and my heart quickened.

"I'm sorry, but did you just say five hundred thousand?"

He chuckled. "Yes, I did. You get a cash advance of twenty-five thousand dollars up front, and this is to fund your expenses. It should be enough to get you going and get the things you need to complete the job. The rest is given to you when the target is dead."

"What's the catch?" I asked suspiciously. "It seems like a lot of money to put on someone's head..." I paused, glancing around the room uneasily. "I mean, you should have assassins lining up outside your door. No one would think twice about slitting my throat for this job."

He leaned over his desk and lowered his voice. "I haven't told anyone else about this job, dear. The only souls that know about this are the people in this room. I chose  _you_ because there is a tiny catch."

I fucking knew it.

"Which is...?"

"How comfortable are you with doing a little field work?" he asked, relaxing back into his chair.

_Field work?_

"Wait a minute, are you suggesting that I get close to the mark?" I asked, shocked.

The request for field work was unheard of...Well, it wasn't completely unheard of and it did happen from time to time, but it wasn't a typical request for a hit. It took a lot of time and patience of the employer  _and_ the assassin. Most of the people that I've ever worked for wanted their marks dead the moment the ink dried on the contract.

"Yes. The target in question is not like any other jobs you've had in the past. It is a big pay out for one, but two, it’s a slow progression. We need you to keep him alive by blocking all other assassination attempts. At least until his father dies and he inherits the company."

It all sounded a bit complex to me. The reasons he was giving me weren’t quite adding up, but in all honestly, I didn't need to know the ins and outs of my employer's diabolic plan. All I needed to know was who, what, where, and when.

Everything else was politics and I don't vote.

"For how long?" I asked as I slid my back pack off my shoulder and set it down on the floor.

"It all depends on how long the father lives, but with the cancer being as extensive as it is, I expect him not to survive much longer than two to three weeks—a month at the very latest."

Something wasn’t right and I was getting the little flutters in my stomach, urging me to get out... _fast_.

"Pardon me for asking, but why go through all this trouble? It seems like a lot of waiting around just to _kill_ someone. Honestly, you can pay me a thirty grand right now and I’ll go down there today and finish them both off for you. All I need are two bullets."

He laughed, shaking his head. “I wish it was that simple, my dear, but this is a delicate situation and it’s far more complicated than just _assassinating_ someone. You see, what I need from you is something far more important than your trigger finger. I need you to get close to the target and get him to trust you with all of his secrets. There are things that are important for me to know about their future plans for the company. I need eyes and ears in there to gather this information. You were only one who fit the bill, Nix."

"Why do I fit the bill, Marcus? Is it because I'm a woman?" I asked, obstinately.

"Yes," he replied simply.

The fact that he only wanted me because of my gender and not my killing skills was highly offensive.

"I appreciate you thinking of me for this job, but I don’t think it's a good fit for me," I said, getting up from my chair. "I'm sorry.

"Phoenix, sit down," Marcus said firmly.

I sighed begrudgingly, but still did as I was told.

"Look, you're perfect for this job because not only are you a proficient killer, but you're an attractive woman. Our target is a single young man and I know that you're the key to this whole operation. You're the only way we'll get in."

"Men just don't divulge all their secrets to attractive women, Marcus."

"No, they don’t, that’s true, _but_ they do let things slip during some unabated pillow talk."

"You want me to _sleep_ with the target now?" I asked in disbelief.

He nodded as he slid a manila envelope across the large mahogany desk. "Listen, look over his file. If you can’t do it, I'll understand, but keep in mind the money that'll you would be giving up, Nix. Not to mention the doors of opportunity that’ll open for you."

I stared at the package dumfounded. I didn't know how to respond to him and I couldn't seem to wrap my head around what he was asking of me.

How in the hell did he expect me to do this? He wanted me to not only get close to a mark, but to bed him, too?

My head was swimming and I wanted to tell him no. The job was too big of a commitment for me. The emotions it required of me was out of my range. All the time and energy it would take me to accomplish such a feat.

It seemed impossible.

Besides, I wasn't a spy or a God damned call girl. I was a contract killer. I killed people. That was who I was in a fucking nutshell.

As I opened up the folder and pulled out the marks picture, the voice in the back of mind told me to get up and leave. Nothing good was going to come of this job and it was going to be more trouble than it was actually worth.

I needed to tell him no.

The only problem was that I couldn't move.

The money was irresistible and it wasn't something that I could just walk away from. Marcus Volturi was offering me half of a million dollars for four weeks of my life. I would be insane not to take it and it _was_ what had kept me glued to my seat up until this point…

But after the smoke cleared and everything was said and done, it was the grayish-blue irises with specks of green that dominated my targets eyes that actually solidified my decision.

Closing the folder, I looked back up at Marcus, and sighed with a heavy heart. "So, when do you want me to start?"   


	3. Homework

** Chapter Two **

**-Homework-**

It was well past four that same evening and I was climbing the stairs of my shit-hole of an apartment building with a sullen disposition.

My eyes burned with exhaustion as I forced my tired ass up four stories. My mind was off in so many directions and I was having a hell of a time trying to focus on just one thing.

After I agreed to take the hit on Edward Cullen, Marcus and I went over the contract. He fine-tuned a few bullet points, and made his demands and expectations very clear.

However, even when he was forthcoming with me, he never told me what he was looking for or what he wanted me to acquire from the target's family.

He told me to just keep my eyes and ears open at all times.

It was frustrating because I was giving up weeks of my life for some job, and I didn't even know what in the hell I was doing.

In all truthfulness, Marcus didn't really need me for this job. The way he was talking, a private eye would be far more suitable to flush out the secrets of Cullen Enterprises, not a hit man—or hit woman in my case.

The only problem with trying to convince Marcus of this was that he was already set in his ways. He knew exactly what he wanted; and furthermore, he wasn't the type to just request hits on mere whims. Marcus was a careful man, and everything he did was thoroughly planned out.

After many years of working with the man who practically bred me, I found that his methodical personality was what made me trust him. But on the flip side of that coin, I also knew that he was a man who deserved to be feared.

By the end of our time together, he handed me the folder filled with intel on my target and a manila envelope stuffed with hundreds of dollars.

It was nerve-racking to have that much money on my person, and I'd been highly aware of people who walked by me too closely the entire way home.

Thankfully, I made it to my apartment building without incident.

Even though I was tired and in desperate need of some sleep, I couldn’t wait to get upstairs. I was eager to comb over my target's file and begin my research.

There was just something about those eyes of his. In one brief glance, they instantly caught my attention and captivated me.

"Hey, Izzy." A deep, soft voice rumbled behind me and startled the shit out of me.

Instinctively, I whipped around fast and placed my hand over the unknown assailant’s neck.

Once the fog lifted and my eyes focused, I saw that it was my next door neighbor Jacob Black…the nuisance with a crush.

I squeezed his throat.

"Whoa, take it easy, killer," he gasped, tapping out on my arm.

"How many times have I told you not to sneak up on me, Black?" I growled.

"I wasn't trying to sneak up on you. I promise. I've actually been trying to get your attention for at least two floors now," he told me, slowly going blue in the face.

Narrowing my eyes at him skeptically, I released him and pushed his face away with my hand. "What do you want?"

He rubbed his neck, looking up at me with a mixture of confusion and chagrin.

"I wanted to say ' _hi_ ' and see how you were doing. I haven't seen you around the halls in over a week," he explained. "I saw you coming up the stairs and I got a little excited."

His big brown eyes were pleading with me and he looked like a sad little pup. It would've tugged on my heart strings if I had any sort of compassion in me, but I didn't.

In the end, all it did was just annoy me.

I smiled tersely and replied robotically. "I'm fine. Thank you for asking, but I really don't have the time to talk right now, okay? Maybe I’ll see you around sometime."

"Yeah, sure thing," he hesitated briefly, looking down at his shoes. "Do you think you would like to go—”

But before he even had a chance to finish that sentence, I turned on my heel and left him there, stranded in the stairwells.

****Five Days Later****

To anyone who was looking, I was nothing more than a young woman sitting at an empty table in a coffee shop, reading her copy of  _Jane Eyre_ , and enjoying the frothy foam on her latte.

But if you knew me and knew what I was about, you would know that I was scouting.

Marcus gave me a list of places where my target visited from time to time. I decided it was best if I started from the ground up by spending the first few days surveying his regular haunts. I hoped that if I hung out long enough that eventually I would catch a glimpse of my mark. It was important to get some sort of schedule on him.

The only problem was that he was a hit or miss on his whereabouts.

He wasn’t like most people who get themselves into a daily rhythm by doing the same shit every day. Instead, he chose to behave rather erratically. He was a peculiar breed, and in a way, he reminded me of myself.

I’d learned long ago that if you stay unpredictable, it made it harder for the wrong people to keep tabs on you.

Was that what Mr. Cullen was doing?

It was my third day of scouting and I still hadn’t crossed paths with him. It made me nervous, and I almost felt as though he was  _intentionally_ avoiding me, but that didn’t make any sense…

He didn’t know me, and he sure as hell didn’t know I was hired to kill him.

The irregularity of my mark made things difficult and I wasn't used to having to work this hard.

What made matters even worse was that I only had a few pictures of Edward Cullen. There was only one in particular that showed any detail of him and the rest were pretty shitty. Most of the photos were blurry shots of him taken from afar—which was worthless to me. I’ve seen paparazzi pictures taken a mile away of Lindsay Lohan with more clarity.

Other than that, all I knew about this man was that he was aged thirty-three, six foot two in height with reddish-brown hair.

In a city as large as Seattle, it would be like looking for a very small needle in a congested haystack.

It seemed damn near impossible.

Luckily, I had a strong cup of java and twenty-five thousand dollars to keep my strength up.

 _‘You think I have no feelings and that I can do without one bit of love or kindness; but I cannot live so: and you have no pity_.  _I shall remember how you thrust me back…into the red room.’_

Setting down my book, I glanced at my phone and saw it was almost noon. I'd been in the coffee shop for about an hour now, and once again, Edward Cullen was a no-show.

He was starting to get on my damn nerves, and I hated waiting around for people. Patience wasn't a part of my genetic makeup, which really made me start to question whether or not this job was a good fit for me.

Giving up on this particular location, I packed up my things and headed out. As I stepped out into the afternoon drizzle, I happened to look to my right and catch a quick glimpse of a man standing no more than ten feet from me at a newspaper stand. He was wearing a black suit with no overcoat, and his hair was standing up on its ends in complete disarray. It took me a minute to recognize the unknown man due to the sunglasses he was wearing, but when he turned to face me, I knew instantly...it was  _him_.

My breath hitched and I couldn’t believe the lousy timing. It took me less than a second to get my shit together and I reacted, almost instinctively.

Even though he didn’t know who I was, I still couldn’t afford him to see me—not just yet. I had a plan, and today wasn't the day for us to meet.

There wasn’t any time to fully go into stealth mode and I only had a few precious moments to get out of sight, escaping his view.

Ducking back inside and behind the nearest wall, I watched as my target entered the coffee shop.

He was alone.

I'm not sure what I expected to see when I finally saw him, but I assumed that he would have a few bodyguards accompanying him. He was a huge public figure with many assets; it seemed only natural that he would acquire some form of protection.

But then again, the man wore shades on a cloudy day.

He was unorthodox.

Staying near the entrance, I briefly scanned the crowded establishment looking for him. He was by the ordering counter, chit-chatting with the attractive barista. He was making her giggle like a school girl by flashing his crooked smile at her every two seconds.

It didn’t surprise me to see a woman taking a shine to him. He was a handsome man. Hell, even I saw that from his pictures.

What surprised me was the way it made me feel. When I watched him flirting with the girl with the frizzy blonde hair, I had this ping of uneasiness in my gut. It aroused this unexplained anger in me, and the murderous thoughts that ignited in me were startling.

I had to consciously force myself to think of something else; otherwise, I would've probably pulled out my gun and shot the poor girl.

It wasn't like me to react so strongly.

I was a murderer for hire, not pleasure— _and_ putting a bullet in her brain would be  _so_ pleasurable.

But there were rules, and even a cold-blooded killer—like myself—had a set of moral ethics to uphold.

After a few long and torturous minutes, I noticed that he was making his way out of the coffee shop. I stepped out of the entrance of the door and turned my back to him. Using my hair as an invisibility cloak, I covered my face with the strands and stared down at my feet as he passed.

He never said a word.

The chase was on.

Following closely behind, my eyes assessed him. He walked briskly as he talked on his phone and causally sipped his coffee. I stayed back as far as I could, making sure that he wouldn’t catch on that I was behind him, but also staying close enough so I wouldn't lose him.

For such a tall and lanky man, he was quite graceful in his movements. He used his hands fluently in conversation, and even though I was still too far to hear his voice, I knew that he was charismatic.

It was weird how I could deduce such a thing, since I never met him, but knowing a person and their behaviors by just watching them was one of my many talents.

After fifteen minutes of trailing behind him, I started to wonder where the hell we were going. The sudden mid-day field trip that he was leading had been unclear to me, and at first, I was too consumed with Edward Cullen to actually care. When I finally decided to stop focusing solely on him and take stock of my surroundings, I realized that we were downtown in the business district. I'd spent my first night of my recon camped out here on First Avenue and Union street.

I knew the neighborhood well.

He was going home.

****Four Hours Later****

The moment the lock clicked over, I twisted the wrench and the handle at the same time, opening the door quietly. It took me twice the effort to pick the lock, and I inwardly cursed home security companies. They often promised wealthy homeowners that their security was top-notch and guaranteed to keep intruders out. Well, that was a bunch of bullshit and a blatant lie. No matter how good they thought they were, in the end, I will always be able to break in.

It just killed my fingers with the constant tension of the wrench and pick.

Pulling my tools out from the deadbolt, I shoved them back into my bag. As I slowly rose to my feet, the stress of being in a crouched position caused my knees to crack loudly. I shot a quick glance down the both hallways, expecting to see that someone was watching me, but there wasn’t a soul in sight and I let out a sigh of relief.

Time wasn’t exactly on my side at the moment, and I only had an hour or so to get in and get out. The last thing I needed was to get caught.

Earlier in the day, I had followed the mark all the way home and stayed down in the lobby. I watched as the apartment tenants came to and from. They all were upper class society, carrying their miniature pooches in their designer doggy carriers, and counting their millions.

Around three-thirty, Edward Cullen came down and spoke briefly with the doorman, Wally. Apparently Mr. Cullen was headed off to visit his parents and would be back around five. He told Wally to keep an eye open for any suspicious and unknown characters who came waltzing through.

Thankfully, I had already been in the building and wouldn't be crossing paths with Wally, the doorman, anytime soon. 

But even if my presence had gone undetected, my time was still limited and I needed to move quickly.

Stepping over the threshold, I entered into the foyer and turned around to shut the door, locking it behind me.

The floor plan of the condo was rather simple. It was forty-one hundred square feet with two bedrooms and two baths. The living room and kitchen were right off the entrance, and both rooms were brightly lit with incoming daylight. The panel of windows that lined the west side of the wall showcased the expansive Pacific Ocean.

There was a patio deck that wrapped around the condo and I could only imagine how beautiful it was in the morning.

Everything about this place was picturesque.

Naturally, my mind automatically went to assessing my best escape routes. If I was to get caught, which exit would be effective and quick? Upon entering the building, I noted that it was twenty stories and my mark was in the penthouse on the top floor. The structure on the outside of the condo didn’t seem applicable for scaling, but if push comes to shove, I’ll do whatever I have to do.

Granted, that was the worst case scenario.

As I took a step forward, I looked down and noticed that the floors were marble. They were solid black and shined up so good that I could actually see my reflection in them. It was an unexpected complication and halted me in my tracks. There was absolutely no way I was going to be able to get across these floors without leaving some sort of smudge marks from my sneakers. 

“Ah, shit,” I hissed.

Unless I wanted to get stuck wiping them clean to remove traces that I was ever here, I needed to find a way around it.

Scanning the halls, I noticed a few scattered throw rugs on the floor, but they were too spaced out and it was unrealistic to assume that I’d be able to jump from rug to rug. The only thing that seemed logical was for me to take off my shoes and put them in my backpack.

Once I was situated and shoeless, I made my way around the house. He kept things clean—well, his maid did at least.

There were two white sofas with red throw pillows in the living room. The black coffee tables matched the floors, and the overall décor was modern…tasteful.

There was also a white marble and black granite fireplace in the living room. Above the mantel was a flat screen television. I wasn’t really familiar with the dimensions of TV’s and such, but if I was to guess, I assumed it to be no larger than a sixty inch…maybe larger.

Off to the right side of the fireplace was a tall shelf with tented black glass doors. It was his DVD collection and when I went to go scope it out, I saw that it was pretty extensive. It looked like he owned every movie that was ever made. There were titles in there that I never knew even existed.

However, it was a wasted avenue and told me absolutely nothing about him as a man.

So what if he liked movies?

If I truly wanted to get an idea of what kind of person he was, I needed to look at what sort of music he was into. 

When I first walked into his living room, I saw that there was a piano in the far back corner. It told me either one of two things about Edward Cullen: one, he knew how to play it and he was very worldly and talented, or two, he bought it because he was rich and really had no idea how to locate a C note.

However, my mind was made up when I examined his CD collection. His musical taste was pretty eclectic, but when I opened up his disk changer and saw that he had Debussy, Mozart, and Chopin in there. It was pretty clear to me that he knew how to play the piano and it wasn't just a prop in the living room to entertain party guests.

My fingers hovered and twitched over the play button on the stereo system, but I resisted the urge and stepped away.

Exiting the living room and venturing into the kitchen, I peeked into his cupboards and pantry. There were pretty bare and I moved on to his refrigerator.

It was such an odd thing to obsess over, but knowing a target's food preference told me a lot about the type of person they were.

Well, one thing was for sure: Edward Cullen was a health nut.

Everything he bought was organic, and it was a vast contrast to the inner contents of my fridge. The only thing I think I ever stocked was expired condiments.  

Moving on, I went down the halls into his spare bathroom. Searching the medicine cabinets and the cupboard underneath the sink, I came across the normal things that you would expect to find in anyone’s house. It was pretty standard and not anything to get excited about.

Getting a little bored with my efforts, I decided to check out his master bedroom. When I entered the room, my eyes went straight to the nearest exit.

There was a patio outside, and as I looked out the window, I saw that there was a way for me to get down to the next floor without injury. I’ve already done some checking into the condo below this one and I found out that it was empty.

It was my best bet for a safe and fast getaway.

Turning my attention back to his room, I noticed a black, five-drawer dresser by the walk-in closet. It was sort of oddly placed and off by itself. On top of it were a few picture frames of him and his family.

Most of the people in those photos I already knew. There was his younger sister, older brother, and both of their parents. They were the wholesome faces of Cullen Enterprises. Practically the Brady Bunch of the corporate world, and I quickly learned that a close-knit family was frowned upon by some people.

Marcus had been very diligent and had done his homework. He supplied me with plenty of background information on my target and his family.

In a way, I knew more about Edward Cullen, the business man, than he knew about himself.

The only thing that Marcus left out was the personal and intimate information about my target, but that was why I was here in his apartment spying.

Opening the top drawer, I found it filled with a whole bunch of miscellaneous crap: a few bottles of expensive cologne, watches, and discarded twenty dollar bills. It was a little  _'Richie Rich_ ' to leave large sums of money lying around, but whatever.

However, Mr. Cullen made up for his snobby ways when I got to the second drawer and saw that he preferred to wear Ralph Lauren boxer briefs. It may seem a little cynical considering I was hired to kill the man, and what if he favored tidy-whities, what difference would that make?

I was obviously losing sight on the bigger picture.

The rest of the dresser was filled with under shirts and socks. There wasn’t anything scandalous or informative there, so I decided to move on.

Walking into his closet, I turned on the light. There were numerous suits hanging up, mostly black in color. His shoes had their own cubby and when I took a closer look, I noted that they were all designer. The man loved expensive things and that left me feeling somewhat turned off.

At the back edge of the closet were boxes stacked high, and as I went to go investigate, I happened to stumble across his journal. It was brown and had an aged leather look with a wrap-around flap and tie closure. It was laying, haphazardly, on one of his built-in wall shelves

As I picked it up to open it, I heard the distinct sound of the front door closing. Slowly backing up, making as little noise as possible, I poked my head outside the closet door and heard a deep, male voice wafting in.

It took me less than a second to realize what was happening. I briefly contemplated using my exit route, but as his voice got closer, I realized that I didn’t have that kind of time. Stuffing the journal in the front pocket of my bag, I quickly ran out of the closet and dove underneath his bed. There was nowhere else for me to go because, as predicted, Mr. Unpredictable came home early.

_Damn it._

Shrugging my backpack off my one shoulder and unzipped it, I pulled out my 9mm and the suppressor. As I listened intently to his movements, I swiftly put my gun together and kept my breathing low.

If he found me in his home, I would have no choice but to kill him. The last thing I wanted to do was to fuck over Marcus by screwing up this hit. He told me that I was supposed to keep Edward Cullen alive until his father passed. I doubted he would take to me killing the target ahead of schedule with a stride.

Chances that he would eventually put a hit out on my head were high, and truthfully, I wouldn't blame him.

_This is not good._

"Yeah, I understand he's our father, but what do you want me to do, Alice?"

The sudden emergence of his voice startled me. It was deep and silky, and it had me completely entranced. Against my better judgment, I scooted my body closer to the foot of the bed, hoping that I would be able to hear him better.

He sat down on the edge of the bed with his heels just inches of me.

I gripped my gun tighter and held my breath.

"He's sick, okay? I get that. You don't have to remind me all the damn time," he sighed, exasperated. "No, I haven't seen Emmett since Saturday. I don't know what his plans are, Alice. I'm guessing that he's going to take that new girl he's seeing. No, I don’t have a date. I'm going solo. Jesus, Al, I am  _not_  practically a monk! Yes, I do like women. Are you fucking kidding me? What? No. Please, don’t set me up. I'm sure Tanya is a great person, but—Alice, don’t play match-maker, alright? Promise me you won’t. Thank you. I mean that. Look, I gotta go, but I'll meet up with you in an hour, okay?"

There was a long pause and I could faintly hear the chattering on the other end of the line.

He laughed. "Yeah, I swear, you can count on me, baby sister. Okay, okay. Yes. I guarantee it. Alright, I'll talk to you in a bit. Bye."

He groaned loudly and chucked his phone across the room. It hit the door hard and landed on the floor.

"What a fucking nightmare," he said, chuckling softly. 

After a minute of his stillness and melodic breathing, he finally rose from the bed and kicked off his fancy loafers. I moved the bottom of the comforter slightly and watched as he started to undress.

His back was faced towards me, and when he removed his shirt, I felt the ping of uneasiness in my stomach again. But these thoughts were different and far from murderous.

It was difficult for me to put a finger on the emotion that was overwhelming me because I’ve never felt it until now. There was attraction to this man—that much I knew, but it was something more than just lusting after him.

The sun was going down now and the dim lighting in the room made it hard for me to see. He went to remove his pants, but almost like an afterthought, changed his direction and headed for the bathroom

Still keeping my place under the bed with the gun pressed up against my cheek, I listened as he turned on the water. When I heard the glass shower door close, I knew this was my window of opportunity to leave.

Sliding out from underneath the bed, I got to my feet and shoved my gun into the back of my jeans. I readjusted my backpack and headed out. It disappointed me that I wasn’t able to get as much information as I originally hoped, but I had managed to steal his journal and form a plan on how I was going to approach him.

Edward Cullen needed a date for some _party_ and I was going to be that special someone for him.

As I walked towards the bedroom door, I froze mid-step and faced the bathroom. My mind told me—it shouted at me—to leave and to get out of there before I got caught, but my feet stayed planted. They weren’t listening to my demands, but instead had a mind of their own as they led me back towards my mark as he showered.

The mirrors were already starting to fog up, but thankfully I was able to catch a quick glimpse of his reflection.

It was very clear to me as I watched him soap up that I was crossing the line with this job. It was only three days into it and I was pretty much setting myself up for disaster.

But as much as I was aware of my actions and how deplorable they were, I couldn’t look away from this man. There was this invisible lasso that was pulling me to him and I didn’t know how to break away from it.

So…I decided to stay.

The steam from the hot water was taking away my visibility and I wasn't able to see as much as I wanted, but from what I saw, it was more than adequate.

The suits he wore didn't do that man any justice...not in the least.

The sudden vibration in my phone in my back pocket brought me back to reality and I knew I had to get the hell out of there.

It took me less than a minute to get back out of his apartment and out into the hallway. Closing the door behind me, I dropped to my knees and pulled out my tools to re-lock his door.

The deadbolt, once again, took me longer than I wanted.

Standing to my feet, I pulled out my blackberry and saw that Marcus was calling me for the third time. I pressed the silence button and headed towards the elevators.

In hindsight, ignoring his call was probably not the smartest move on my part, but I needed to block out all outside influences. I had less than eighteen hours to figure out how I was going to integrate myself into Edward Cullen's life and discussing my progress with Marcus wasn’t a high priority of mine.

All in all, he may be paying me to kill Mr. Cullen, but he wasn’t in control of how I courted him; if he wanted this job done properly then he was going to have to play by my rules.


	4. First Impressions

** Chapter Three **

**-First Impressions-**

It wasn't until I was out of his building and on my way home, did I realize my epic lapse in judgment. I was too busy eye-fucking my mark to think clearly and had completely bypassed his phone on my way out. The entire time spent searching through his things, trying to find something that would give me some damn insight on him, and I walk right past it.

His iPhone would've had everything I needed. A daily planner, his personal contacts, intimate files—e _verything_!

It just ate away at me and I couldn't believe how negligent I'd been. It was entirely out of character for me to behave so recklessly.

It was a harsh slap in the face—one that was sorely needed—and I vowed to never lose my head again.

This was my job, plain and simple. I couldn't afford to think of him as human. If I let my conscience continue to get in the way of this hit, mistakes were going to happen.

From this point forward, Edward Cullen was nothing more than the crosshairs in my scope.

It was callous, I know, but turning off my humanity was the only guarantee that I would pull the trigger in the end.

Once I finally stopped berating myself, I got down to work. As I expected, the journal was somewhat of a dead end. It didn’t supply me with the sort of information that I could outwardly use on him, but it did give me an idea of what kind of man Edward Cullen was.

The cream colored pages were filled with his day to day thoughts. Some entries were ramblings, while the others were heart wrenching poems and limericks.

Flipping to the last two pages of his journal, I suddenly sat up straighter in my chair as I read the entries. They were written over a year ago, and both of them were very telling, but it was the last entry that spoke volumes.     

**_August 23, 2010._ **

**_My father has been diagnosed with stage four cancer. He doesn't have much time. I'm such a fucking mess. I can't think straight. He told me today that he wanted me to be his successor. Is he out of his mind? How am I going to run the company without his guidance?  He's the heart and soul of Cullen Enterprises, and I am just the radical son. The black sheep. Why would he choose me when everyone knows that Emmett is the obvious choice? He's more qualified. He's the golden boy, for fuck’s sake. He's the one who deserves to be CEO. Not me._ **

**_I'm going to tell him no._ **

**_-E.A.C_ **

Four weeks later, almost to the day, he wrote his final entry.

**_September 22, 2010._ **

**_He lied to me._ **

I stared at the page, trying to decipher what it meant. Who lied to him and why was this the last time he wrote in his journal?

If anything, it piqued my interest and I was eager to find out more.

Marcus said part of my job was to gather information about the Cullen family and their business, but there was something he wasn't telling me. If only I knew what it was that he wanted so desperately—especially before the father died—I could figure out how to obtain it quicker for him.

Marcus' secrecy and vague reasoning's behind the hit were what confused me the most. 

If his main goal was to kill the mark before he had the chance to take over the company, then what would be the point of keeping him alive? Why would Marcus even bother having me block all of the other assassination attempts on Edward Cullen—and exactly how many people wanted this man dead?

It all sounded a little counterproductive to me.

But since I was too stubborn and obviously destined to stay, I decided that my first order of business was to find out who lied to Edward Cullen.

That seemed like a perfect place to start.

Flipping idly back through the journal, I looked over at my wall clock and saw that it was already two in the morning. It was way past my fucking bedtime, and I needed to be up in six hours to meet up with Marcus.

He left an urgent message on my phone, stating that he wanted to talk with me about my progress.

It was pretty clear that he was going to be in thick of things, and that bothered me. There were reasons why I chose to work alone. It allowed me the freedom I needed to change the plan if things got too dangerous. The way Marcus was talking, he was going to want a play by play until the very moment I put a bullet into the target's head.

God, this job was already giving me a fucking ulcer.

The fact that it had me asking all these questions was a bad sign, and I knew it.

Unfortunately, my need to know the truth was my vice. The more questions that this hit presented, the stronger the drive in me to get some answers.

It was my sheer curiosity that eventually was going to get me killed.

Groaning loudly, I pushed the leather-bound book away from my face and leaned back into my chair. As I closed my eyes tightly, my inner voice started to shout at me. Pleading with me for the millionth time that night...

_Get out!_

***8*8*8*8***

Water splashed against the granite rock, creating a soothing sound. An elderly lady that sat at an adjacent table from me was feeding some russet colored sparrows. She scattered the bread crumbs all over the stone walkway and sent the birds into a frenzy. They chirped loudly, and I watched with amusement as they hopped around me.

God, I envied their happiness.  

Marcus chose to meet up at Waterfall Garden's instead of his office, and in a way, I was grateful. There was something about those grey walls inside that skyscraper that made my stomach churn. It was an unsettling feeling that I couldn't shake.

Besides, the weather was beautiful today and it complimented my iced black coffee quite nicely.

"Nix!"

Looking up at the sound of my name, I saw Marcus waving at me as crossed the courtyard with an easy stride. He was wearing a navy blue suit and a black overcoat. His dark hair was slicked back and he looked like a mobster instead of the respected businessman he was trying so hard to portray.

I'm sure he saw himself as a little bit of both.

"Marcus," I greeted warmly as I stood up from my chair.

He drew me into a tight hug, and I froze, unsure of what my next move was. As I looked behind him, I noticed that he was alone. The gaggle of people he usually surrounded himself with was suddenly a no-show.

This was unusual for him and that immediately made my antennae stand up.

I was hyperaware of everything now: the way the wind shifted, making the trees sway and move north instead of south. The distant chattering of unknown people as they made their way in and out the entrance of the garden.

Hell, even that old lady with those annoying birds was a danger to me now.

"You look lovely," he said, pulling away and holding me at arm’s length.

I smiled pleasantly. "Thank you."

He released me from his grip and gestured for me to take my seat. As we sat down, the silence loomed between us for a fraction of a heart beat.

He spoke first, eyeing me expectantly. "Well, I hope you have some news for me."

"I do, but I hardly think you'll see it as progress."

He cocked his eyebrow and folded his arms over his chest. "Oh?"

"The truth is that I haven't actually made contact with him," I said.

He sighed. "Nix, I thought I made myself very clear on my expectations."

"You did, Marcus, but the target is not an easy man to follow. He's erratic, and it took me five days just to cross paths with him. Luckily, I was able to get past the doorman and break into his apartment."

"Ah, well, there's some news. You really should've led with that, my dear." He chuckled.

He was smiling, and I couldn't tell if he was joking. The tension in the air was suffocating. My mind was on high alert and I scanned the bushes, the walls, and every nook and cranny searching for a possible threat.

The likelihood of spotting a sniper in time was slim, but that wasn't going to stop me from looking for it.

"So, what did you find when you were spying on the young Cullen?" he asked.

"Nothing," I lied. "He came home unexpectedly and surprised me."

He shook his head and clicked his tongue. "That's very unfortunate. Anything else?"

"That's pretty much it," I said.

"Well, this is disappointing. I hoped that you would've at least made an effort to make contact with him in some way."

The tenor of his voice was worrisome, but more than that, it made me feel less than adequate.

Even though everything was going according to plan and I wasn't as ill-prepared as he thought, I still craved his approval.

"I'll get it done, Marcus," I reassured. "Have I ever let you down?"

"No, Nix. You've always been reliable. And please don’t think that I've lost my faith in you, because I haven't," he said. "It's just this job is very important to a lot of people. If this hit doesn't go as planned and I don't get the information I need before the father dies..." he paused as he leaned over towards me and lowered his voice, "…bad things will happen, Nix, and not just for you, but for me, as well."

The secrecy was driving me up the wall and I needed to know the truth.  

"What sort information do you need, Marcus? Is it about Edward Cullen or his father?" I asked.

"The details are not important," he said.

"But if I knew a little more of the details and what you were looking for, I could probably get it a hell of a lot faster for you.”

"You just report back to me with everything he tells you and I'll decide whether or not it's important to me."

I laughed. The idea was absurd. "Marcus, come on, now. It just seems silly having reporting back to you with every minute conversation I have with the target."

"Are we going to have a problem here, Nix?" he snapped.  

The fury in his face was unmistakable and his eyes were blacker than night. It was my cue to drop it...and I did.

"No,” I said. “We don't have a problem.”

"Good," he said. "Now, what’s your plan? How are you going to approach him?"

Time was an issue for him and the clock was ticking.

He wasn't going to like what I had to say.

"I need a few more days to make my move," I said.

"You've already had a _week_. The old man grows weaker by the day. We can't delay this any longer."

"I understand that, Marcus, and normally I wouldn't ask this of you, but I won't be able to make contact with him until Monday. I have to be on a red-eye flight to South America tonight."

He let out a loud cackle as he doubled over and slapped his leg. When he was done with his theatrics, he looked back up at me with tears in his eyes. "Oh, dear, now you're just being funny."

"I'll only be gone for two days," I said, keeping my tone neutral.

His laughter slowly faded and he studied my face, looking for any cracks in my façade, but my expression was stone cold and iron-clad.

"Well, that's not going to happen," he said, shaking his head obstinately.

"It's a job. I've already committed myself to it. You know as well as I do that if I don't show up, they'll kill me. What good would I be to you dead?" I asked.

"Valid point," he said, his face filled with contemplation. After a moment, he sighed. "If you must go, then go, but hurry back, Nix. If you wait too long to make your move, my dear, you'll force me to render you useless."

"Is that a threat, Marcus?" I asked, shocked.

In all of the years I’ve known Marcus he has _never_ spoke to me coldly. It took me a minute to comprehend what he was telling me, and at first I didn't think I heard him right.

He rose from his chair and took a hold of my hand, placing a soft kiss on it. His smile seemed almost genuine, but it never reached his eyes. "I would never threaten you, Phoenix. I'm only telling you the facts of the situation. If you can't uphold you're part of our contract, I am going to have to let you go. It's best that you keep that in mind."

"I understand."

I knew exactly where I stood with him now…I was disposable.

"Good, girl," he said. "Now, call me as soon as you get back into town. I don't want another second wasted. There's much to do and little time to do it."

I nodded marginally, hoping my silence would keep my anger at bay.

"Have a safe trip, my dear, and I'll see you soon.”

He then turned on his heel and walked briskly out of the garden.

I glared at the back of his head as I seethed with anger. It wasn’t until he disappeared around the corner did I allow myself to relax. My feelings towards Marcus were becoming distorted. In the past, I had this loving admiration for him. We had worked well together. It was easy, no drama, and the man paid me handsomely. However, things were starting to change. The whole time we discussed ‘ _business_ ’, I couldn't help but feel like there was this big bulls-eye on my forehead, and that impression of our meeting created this animosity within me.

There was this new unfounded emotion and I couldn’t quite put my finger on its origin. 

Heaving a sigh, I threw my backpack over my shoulder and picked up my coffee. It was time to be on my way. Lord knows that my day was far from over.

The garden was about a block from the mark’s apartment and I hoped to get some scouting in before I left for the airport. It was barely nine in the morning and that meant I had twelve hours to make some headway.

It bothered me that I was going to lose two days with this job, and it wasn’t because of Marcus and his threats. The gnawing feeling in my gut told me that it wasn’t a normal hit, and even though I still intend on killing Edward Cullen, I wasn’t going to go into this blindly.

No, I will know why this man was targeted, even if it kills me.

As I neared the exit, my phone vibrated in my back pocket. I reached behind me and pulled it out. The screen was lit up, showing me that Jasper was calling.

It must’ve been six in the evening in Ecuador and he was probably calling to confirm my flight plans.

Jugging my coffee in one hand and holding my phone in the other, I looked down for a fraction of a second to unlock my screen, but that was all it took. The next thing I knew, I was slamming head first into a wall and spilling my icy liquid all over the front of my shirt.

The sudden impact and the frigid coldness on my chest caused me to drop my phone, and put my hands up to brace myself. Only instead of being met with stucco, I felt this stiff fabric underneath my palms. The ' _wall'_ wasn’t a wall, but a man, and hewas holding onto my upper arms. The strength of his grip had kept me upright, and a bad situation was, somewhat, adverted.

There was something else, though. The simplicity of this man’s touch had sent a jolt of electricity through my veins, and it was exhilarating. As I stood there frozen, my mind tried to rationalize what was happening to me.

 _How is it possible for my fingers to tingle like this_?

Nothing was making sense to me, and I stared at my hands, like they were foreign, as they rested on the stranger’s black lapel.

_Something's not right here..._

When I gathered my bearings, I took a tentative glance up and saw these bluish-gray eyes with the familiar and distinctive specks of green staring back down at me.

As reality dawned on me, my pulse began to quicken and my throat was constricted.

Suddenly, I couldn't breathe...

It was _him_.

It was Edward Cullen.

No matter how many times I looked at his pictures, followed him from a far, and spied on him in the shower, none of that prepared for what it would be like to actually see him face to face.

My eyes roamed hungrily over his defined features, focusing on his strong jaw, narrow nose, and perfectly full lips. He was beyond beautiful. It was almost too surreal and I gazed up at him in a complete stupor.

"You alright?" he asked, concerned, bending down to my eye level.

"I'm fine," I said, snapping out of it and pulling my hands away from his chest.

He glanced down at my saturated shirt and his brows knitted with uncertainty. "Are you sure you're not hurt?"

"Yes," I paused, looking down at the ground. I saw that the back cover of my phone busted open when it hit the concrete and my battery was dislodged from it. "That’s just fucking perfect."

"What's wrong?" he asked, panicked.

"No, I'm fine," I said, hoping to ease his concern. "It's just my phone. I dropped it.”

As I bent down to pick it up, I noticed my simple movement was restricted. The target had his fingers firmly wrapped around my arms, and I shot my eyes at him with a look of surprise.

"You can let go of me now," I said.

"I’m not sure it’s safe," he said.

 “What?” My eyes widened and I looked around us frantically, searching for the danger he spoke of.

He tightened his hold even more and pulled me into him. We were less than an inch apart and there was a playful smirk on his face. Even before he said the words that would ease my fears, I knew he was messing with me, and I allowed my muscles to relax...but only just a little.

"I don't want to let go and take the risk of you walking into the wrong person. It’s a scary world out there."

I scoffed at his statement.

_Man, if he only knew..._

"I'm pretty capable of taking care of myself,” I said, trying to wiggle free of his grasp, but he refused to budge.

"I'm sorry, miss, but I’m just not willing to take that risk," he said.

"There’s no risk, okay? I’m a big girl. I’ll be fine.”

"That may be true, but what sort of guarantee do I have? I can't let you go and have you walk out of my life. What if I never see you again? I think I need some insurance,” he said, decided.

There was something behind those eyes of his and I caught myself just staring at them. It was just like in Marcus' office when I went against my instinct and took the job. They had clouded my judgment then, except, it was very different now. The allure of his eyes was ten times more potent because they were looking right at _me_.

I was suddenly irritated with myself.

"Look, I'm not going to fall off a cliff or anything, alright? So, you can let me go with a clear conscience—and _that_ will be your insurance."

_Ugh, why did I say that?_

The whole point was to get close to him, not scare him off with my mood swings.

I groaned and softened my tone. "You’re just going to have to trust me."

He looked conflicted as he mused over my words, obviously still hesitant to let me go. The part that scared me the most in all of this was that if wasn't for my busted phone, I probably wouldn’t have been putting up such a fight.

After a moment, he finally released me. “I trust you.”

"Thanks," I said as I bent down and snatched my phone off the ground.

The screen wasn’t scratched too badly and when I put the battery back in, the phone lit right up.

I had my lifeline back.

"Thank God," I said, sighing with relief.

When I glanced back up at my target, I saw that he was staring at me with this heart stopping, crooked smile. 

It shook me to the core and broke my resolve.

"I'm Edward,” he said, holding out his hand to me.

"Hello, Edward," I said, reaching out and placing my hand in his. "I'm..."

My mind quickly scrolled through all of my aliases, looking for the perfect name to give. If someone was to ask me why I gave him _that_ name instead of all the others, I probably would’ve told them that it was a last minute decision or that I had panicked.  

But both of those reasons would be a bold-faced lie. I knew exactly what I was doing and I didn’t give a shit about the consequences.

"...I'm Bella."

 ***8*8*8*8***  

"Gracias por volar con LAN Ecuador. Esperamos que disfrute de su estancia en nuestra bella ciudad Guayaquil. Por favor vea el paso en el camino de salida. Gracias."

The flight attendant was at the front of the cabin, ushering people out, and welcoming them to the city.

The stench of sweat and stale cigar smoke was overwhelming, and I couldn't wait to get off this plane.

It had been nine long hours in this sardine can and I was exhausted. These trips back and forth over the Atlantic were nothing new to me. In fact, I spent more time ten thousand feet in the air than I did on land. But even still, I hated flying.

The only thing that took my mind off anything was Edward Cullen. Bumping into him was unexpected, and in a way, it threw me off my game. It left me stumbling to play catch up, and a lot of the time, I was just winging it.

Needless to say, it was not the way I wanted to meet him.

After introductions, he insisted that he take me out to replace my spilt coffee. On several occasions, he even offered to pay for my dry cleaning. It was nice gesture, but totally unnecessary. He was persistent and expressed how awful he felt about the whole thing. It was quite endearing, but I wasn’t about to make him pay for my laundry bills. Eventually, after much begging on my part, he dropped the subject. We spent the remainder of the morning walking around the city and talking.

A few times during my time with the target, I’d lost sight of what I was doing, and I was forced to end things early with him.

All and all it was a success, and by the time I was heading home, I had Edward's number in my phone.

I was worried that I'd messed it up with him, but when he texted me twenty minutes after we parted, all my fears were put to rest.

**Thank you for turning my shitty day around. When can I see you again?**

It was silly, but I must have read that message over a hundred times. It was just so simple and so sweet.

It was obvious that I was in way over head. It was why Ecuador couldn’t have come at a better time. I needed the distance to gain some fucking perspective. ****              

Grabbing my bags out of the overhead compartments, I let a mother and her three kids squeeze by me. She was scolding them in Spanish and yanking the two youngest down the aisles by their wrists.

Shaking my head and chuckling to myself, I threw my bags over my shoulders and started to trudge off the plane.

I smiled at the pretty flight attendant. "Gracias, Senorita."

"De nada," she said.

When I reached the end of terminal the chaos began and I was suddenly bombarded with people.

It was nearly eleven in the morning and it was their busiest time at José Joaquín de Olmedo. It was a beautiful airport, and on most occasions it wasn't as packed. The difference today was that a lot of people were flying in from all sorts of places in South America into Guayaquil.

Tomorrow their President was going to take the stage and make a very important speech—one that could shape their nation, and possibly for the better.

Making my way through the crowd, I headed towards the baggage claim. Everything I brought was on my back, but Jasper said he would meet me there.

It was hard to see over the crowd, and a few times I found myself standing on my tiptoes just to get a better vantage point. There was nothing but endless people with russet brown skin and thick black hair. It was quite monotonous, but that was a good thing. The one person I was looking for had a mop of honey-blond hair.

He _should've_ been easy for me to spot.

"Si no fueras tan maldita caliente, yo te habría matado el mismo momento en que te conocí." A deep, Latin voice purred in my ear as they placed their hands on my hips and pulled my ass into them. 

I smiled to myself, enjoying his hot breath on my skin.

"I would have liked to see you try," I teased.

Jasper huffed as he spun me around and penetrated me with hazel eyes. His lips were curled into a cute pout, and I noticed how good he looked.

He had a few days worth of stubble on his chiseled jaw. The sun had been generous, giving him a deep golden-brown tan and lightening up his hair to even whiter shade of blond.

Jasper was born in Ecuador, but his parent’s were pure blooded Texan’s. In the early seventies they traveled around the world as missionaries. They spent most of their years in South America, helping small families with supplying food and attending as their physicians.

A month before Jasper was born, his father was killed in a car crash and his mom decided to stay in Montañita and raise him there.

" _Bonita_ ,” he whined, “how many times do I say to speak in Spanish? You know how it excites me to hear my native tongue on your mouth.”

I grasped a hold of his shirt, pulling him down as my lips hovered over his. I spoke to him really low in Spanish, rolling my tongue in all the right places. "Estoy muy triste, señor Jasper. ¿Cómo voy a pagarte?"

"Much better," he said, grasping my hips and leaning in to kiss me.

Even before I had time to examine my reasoning’s, I was quickly turning away from Jasper’s advances and he got a mouth full of my greasy hair.

He spat out the strands and narrowed his eyes at me. “Mi Amor, are you seeing someone?”

“No,” I scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Then why you pull away just now, huh?” he asked.

He had a right to be suspicious of me. Jasper and I shared an intimate history, and it was unlike me to refuse him. In this shithole of a world, he was the only person who ever gave a shit about me. At times, he even managed to make me feel loved.

My actions not only puzzled him, but me, as well.

“Look, baby,” I said. “I’m just tired and in a desperate need of a shower, okay?”

He looked at me skeptically, and I waited for him to call me out on my shit. He was perceptive guy. He was going to see right through my lies.

“You want to leave, no?” he asked.

"Sí," I replied, forcing a smile.

“Bueno, Bonita,” he said with a nod as he gripped my hand and pulled me through the crowd. “I get you a shower then I get my kiss, Sí?”

He rushed us out of the airport and I followed behind him in silence. His body was tense and I could see that he was eager to get me home and into bed.

What he didn’t realize was that if he tried to kiss me again, I was going to break his fucking nose.

This was not going to be a good trip.


	5. Misconceptions

** Chapter Four **

**-Misconceptions-**

The noon day sun was beating down on the clay stucco structures, causing them to emanate waves of heat. The buildings were aged and broken down, but the pastel of blues, yellows, and pinks were putting life into them.

The majority of the homes was three to four stories high and sat slanted upon a hill, overlooking the vast and marvelous city of Guayaquil.

As we drove through the back streets, I noticed that it was packed with people. They were practically shoulder to shoulder with one another, but no one seemed to mind. Everyone was so tight-knit and familial here. The sort of camaraderie that Ecuador people shared between strangers had really struck a chord in me...

It'd given me hope for something more.

Peeking glances over at Jasper every few seconds, I was very mindful of him and the placement of his hand on my leg. He kept making circular motions with his thumb on the inside of my knee, sending chills throughout my body.

It felt nice to be touched, and I wasn’t going to lie about that, but that was as far as things were going to go with him.

There was something off about this trip—I was different, and that feeling had me on edge. Everything that I've known was suddenly being put into question, and that included, my relationship with Jasper.

Whatever we had in the past was seemingly over now...I just hadn't told him that.

When we arrived at the hotel, I observed the room and did my usual check. I located all of the available exits, scanned for possible threats, and listened to the people in the next room.

That was pretty much the norm for me...a self-preservation tick.

After my logistics assessment, I sought out the one thing I'd been waiting to see since I ordered it...my gun.

It was my favorite part of the job and the excitement of seeing it for the first time was all I could think about.

Normally Jasper would have it out and on display for me, but this time he'd hidden it. The sudden change in his routine was a red flag, warning me that something was amiss.

_What is he up to?_

Setting down my bags by the bed, I gathered my things and headed for the bathroom. The stench of being in tight space filled with people for fifteen hours had heavily saturated my clothes, my hair, and even my skin.

But I also wanted some time away to reassess ‘ _The Jasper situation’_.

Looking over my shoulder at him, I saw that he was leaning against the door frame with his arms folded over his chest. There was a devious smirk on his lips, and I realized that he had other plans in mind for me.

"I'm going to go to take a shower. Have my gun out and ready for me when I get out!" I barked at him as I passed.

Closing the door and locking it behind me, I went over to the sink and opened my bag of toiletries.

Taking a glance at my reflection, I couldn't believe how bad my face looked. My greasy hair was matted to my forehead and there was deep, purple shadowing under my eyes.

The stress of the last week was heavily marred on my features, and I briefly wondered how Jasper could still find me attractive.

Either he genuinely thought I was beautiful or he just wanted to get me into bed and he didn't give a damn about what I looked like.

I laughed dryly to myself, knowing perfectly well that it was the latter.  

I wasn't naive.

Completely disrobing, I stepped into the tub and turned on the shower. As the hot water trickled out of the nozzle and over my shoulders, I thought of ways to let Jasper down easily.

He was going to be pissed at me for switching up our plans, but I wasn't going to force myself into having sex just to make him happy.

The things I've done in my life were for my pleasure and mine alone. Regardless of how hard up he was, that part of me was never going to change.

"Hola, Bonita."

My eyes snapped open to the sound of Jasper's voice as he parted the curtains and hopped into the shower.

My initial reaction should've been to shield myself from his roaming eyes, but I was too enraged by the intrusion to care about being modest.

"How did you get in?" I seethed.

He stood in front of me in all his naked glory. The man was tanned a beautiful shade of brown, and his long arms were a sculpted masterpiece. Every muscle on him was well defined and absolutely groan worthy. In the not so distant past, I'd yearned to be under him.

"Era fácil," he said, waving me off. "I pick lock."

"Damn it! I forgot that you knew how to do that."

He took a step towards me and I put my hand on his chest to stop his advance.

The surge of lust and wanting was gone, and the only thing I felt now was the damp and stickiness of his skin.

He cocked his head to the side and stared at me with confusion. I could see it in his eyes. He couldn't quite comprehend what was going on, but the second I backed up, the reality of situation dawned on him.   

"You  _are_ seeing someone!" he spat, eyes narrowed with betrayal.

"I'm not seeing anyone, Jasper," I said, irritated.

"Then what is this?" he asked, gesturing between us.

The water turned cold on my back and I realized that the chance of getting peaceful shower was shot to hell now, and I was going to have stew in my own filth a little while longer.

Needless to say, I was livid.

"You just couldn't give me five minutes to myself, could you?!" I shouted at him, turning off the water and getting out.

Snatching the towel off the sink, I wrapped it around me and stomped out of the bathroom, cursing up a storm.

Jasper was trailing close behind me.

"Usted loca mujer," he muttered.

Grinding my teeth in anger, I reached over to the side table and picked up a large, thick drinking glass.

"Don't you dare call me crazy!" I screeched as I threw it at him.

Jasper quickly dodged the flying object and it went smashing into the wall. He gawked at me with wide eyes, completely shocked by my outburst.

"Jesucristo. ¿Cuál es tu problema?" he asked.

" _You_ are my problem, Jasper. I can't have one human moment to myself without you swinging your dick at me!"

"No entiendo, hermosa. Esto nunca se preocupó—”

"Speak English, dammit!"

"Fine!" he said, leaning down to pick up his discarded cargo pants and putting them on. "You're different, Amor."

I scoffed, folding my arms over my chest. "Different how?"

He sat on the bed, placing his hands on his legs and said with such absolute certainty. "You lie to me."

"I don't lie to you."

"No?" he asked. "Then why don’t kiss me at airport, huh? And just now in the shower, you treat me like I'm some—"

"I told you I was tired."

" _Lies_."

He penetrated me with his eyes and I felt naked. Being vulnerable was something that I avoided at all costs.

I groaned loudly, throwing up my hands. "Ugh! Look, this is going nowhere, Jasper. Will you please just give me my gun and leave?"

He stayed seated and continued as if he never even heard me. "You think that I don't know you, Bonita? That I don’t see right through you? But I do. So, tell me, what's changed you, huh? Love? Are you in love?"

I laughed. "This is absurd."

"No, not love..." he paused, heavily scrutinizing my face, "not yet, but it is another man, si?"

I shook my head. "Jasper, I already told you—"

"Yes, yes, I know, you told me, but you see, last week you spent your nights in my bed, no?"

"Yes," I said, already knowing where he was going with this.

"Remember the night before you left, Hermosa? Do you remember what you say to me?"

I closed my eyes and sighed, beaten and defeated. "Yes."

" _You_ said that you couldn't wait to come back and that you hated having to leave. We make plans for this weekend, si?"

I nodded as my own words echoed in my head.

"Tonight was going to be perfecto, Bonita." The hurt and longing was saturated in his voice.

The last person I wanted to ever hurt was him.

"Jasper," I started, opening my eyes and looking at him dead on, "you have to understand—”

"But now?" he said, cutting me off mid-sentence, and his once handsome face was now overtaken by disgust. "Look at you. You push me away and treat me like a  _cabrón._ So, what am I to think? I think that you seeing some  _pendejo_. That he fills you and  _your_ bed now...but, you lie to me, Isabel, and say that this is not true."

My heart, which once pounded loudly in my ears, had ceased to an inaudible frequency as Jasper told me what I already knew.

As much as I didn't want to accept what was happening, knowing full well that the consequences would surely mean death, and I couldn't escape the undeniable truth...

He was right.

There was someone else.

***Twenty-five hours prior***

"Since you won't let me take you out for coffee, can I at least pay for your dry cleaning?" Edward asked, filling my ears with his deep and smooth-tongued voice.

We were walking down Main Street with really no direction in mind. Occasionally his arm would brush against mine, and I suspected that it was done purposely. It was unclear if it was him that was doing it or if it was me. 

I pursed my lips and narrowed my eyes at him. "I thought we agreed that you were going to drop it.”

“Yeah, I know, but we’ve been walking around for almost an hour now and I still feel horrible about what happened. There’s got to be a way for me to make it up to you,” he said.

“What do you call this?” I gestured between us.

“What,  _this_? Having some strange guy stalk you through the city? No, this is not repayment, Bella, this is grounds for a restraining order.”

"Hey now," I protested, fighting the urge to smile. It was bound to break through, though, as he was just too cute. "Don’t cheapen it. I’m having a good time. If it makes you feel any better, there was barely a sip left in that coffee cup."

“Really? You call that a sip?” He scoffed as he pointed at the large brown stain that consumed my white t-shirt.

"Well,  _maybe_ I had only  _taken_ a sip of it, but its fine. Look, you’re going overboard for nothing. It’s really unnecessary. This was like a five dollar shirt. I have many more like it at home," I lied fluidly, praying that he didn't notice the Donna Karan tag.

"Listen, Bella," he said as he cut in front of my path and stopped me mid-step. He placed his hands on my arms and bent down to my eye level. It was amazing how small I felt next to him, "there must be something I can do. I’ll do anything. Just say the word."

His touch was simply addicting, and the skin to skin contact set my insides on fire. For the millionth time since I ran into him, I thanked the weather for being unseasonably warm. 

"Honestly, there isn't anything I want you to do. This wasn’t your fault, Edward—" 

"Say that again."

My eyes bored into his and I stated slowly...efficiently. "It wasn't your fault."

"No, no," he chuckled, “the part where you said my name." 

"Edward?" I asked, a little unsure.

“Yeah…It's strange, you know?"

"I'm sorry?"

"I don't want you to think that I am some creep trying to use some lame pick up line on you, but my name sounds different when you say it."

"The name Edward sounds different to you when I say it?"

He nodded.

"As opposed to..."

His brows furrowed with intense concentration as he tried to relay his words to me. "Everyone else.”

The sun hit him at just right angle and reflected a million multifaceted red hues in his hair. It caught me by surprise because it'd always looked brown to me.

I just stared up at him and marveled at his beauty.  

The wind blew idle strands of hair across my face and shielded me from his intense gaze. It was the reprieve I was hoping for, and I swallowed thickly as my body slacked within his hold.

The sudden exposure hadn't given me enough time to become desensitized and I needed distance to regroup.

That was my cue to get the hell away from him.

"Um, it was really nice talking with you, Edward, but I have to get going now," I said, even though it pained me to do so.

" _Oh_..." His face fell significantly as the reality of my words hit him. "I freaked you out, didn't I?"

He looked so young to me then, and certainly didn’t fit the bill of a thirty-two year old man. He seemed more like a young guy in his early twenties—a man who was barely discovering himself. There was this boyish charm about him, and I had this sudden urge to take care of him...to protect him.

This mark was surely going be my undoing.

"No, of course not," I said, hoping to ease his worry. "I have to get home."

"Well, let me walk you," he said, releasing me from his grip.

The Seattle air was cold on my exposed skin now and I missed the warmth he provided.

"You don’t have to, Edward. It's kind of far out of your way. It would be more trouble than it is actually worth."

He rolled his eyes. "I don't mind."

"I know you don't, and I appreciate the offer. I do. But it's just..." I sighed heavily.

"You gotta go." he said.

I nodded firmly as I gave him one last parting glance. "Goodbye, Edward."

"Bye, Bella."

It was the oddest thing, and I would never understand it, but it took all I had to turn around and walk away from him.

Outwardly, I was trying to look bad-ass by giving him a little swagger as I left, but internally I was kicking myself for not taking him up on his offer.

_What is wrong with me?_

It wasn't the fact that mark was offering himself up on a silver fucking platter; it was the feelings of regret for denying him.

 _Screw it_ , I decided.  _I'm already going to hell; I might as well let him walk me home._

The moment my mind was made up to turn back around, I felt this scorching heat on my upper arm. It radiated through me like a white hot flame, and I smiled smugly.

The most intriguing and compelling man I'd ever known had his hands on me again.

He leaned down and whispered into my ear. "Before you go walking out of my life and disappearing into the unknown, do you think I can get your number?"

Feeling completely victorious and playful, I teased him. "Well, that all depends, Edward."

"On?" 

"Whether or not you'll make good use of it," I said, turning around to face him. "You see, I don't give out my number to just anyone."

"Trust me, Bella, I fully intend on memorizing it." He smirked mischievously as the green specks in his eyes caught the light perfectly, shimmering with brilliancy.

Seeing a challenge present itself, I decided to test him.

I reached up and placed my hands on his chest, giving me the leverage I needed to push myself away from him. He let go and I started to slowly back away.

Rushing through my words, I continued to put distance between us. "My number is 206-555-1083—and if you can burn that into your memory then  _maybe_ I'll hear from you."

"Wait, say that again!" he said, fumbling for his phone. "I didn't catch it!"

“You gotta be quick around me, Edward," I said, chuckling at his dilemma. “If you’re sincere about me and my number, you’ll figure it out. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

"Bella," he called after me."Wait."

Never turning back, I left him there in the middle of the sidewalk, scrambling for my number. The sound of his frantic voice soon faded in the distance, and as I rounded the corner, a joyous smile slowly overtook my face. I couldn't remember the last time I felt this... _happy_?

Even though I wouldn’t be hearing from Edward anytime soon, I knew that we would see each other again.

The next time we ' _accidentally_ ' bumped into each other, it was going to be planned.

Edward Cullen might be erratic and unpredictable, but I have a pretty good grasp on him now.

Today wasn't how I wanted things to play out, and there were times where I felt like things got a little muddled, but still managed to get the ball rolling in the right direction.

No matter how handsome or how charming he was, I was never going to allow him to fluster me like that again...

But then he texted me and changed all of my rules.

***8*8*8*8***

"I got it, Jasper, okay?" I told him as I swatted his hand away.

He'd been hovering over me, pointing out ways to assemble my gun properly and I was getting tired of it. This wasn’t my first fucking rodeo, and I was well aware of the easiest and the most efficient techniques to clean a gun.

"Fine, Hermosa," he said. "I'll leave you be."

Reattaching the scope, I gave him a small, but grateful smile. "Gracias."

"So, this man you're seeing," Jasper said as he took a seat across from me, "what's his name?"

I sighed. "Why does it matter?"

"Because, Bonita, he must mean something to you if you’re willing to stop being with this," he said, waving his hand over his hardened physique.

I laughed at his God-like insinuation. “Well, you certainly think a lot of yourself, don’t you?"

“No, I don’t think, Bonita, I know, okay?" he paused as he leaned into me, lowering his voice to a deep and husky tone. “¿Cuántas veces usted se retuercen y tiemblan debajo de mí, bella?”

He was trying to tempt me with his sexy Latin accent, but I'd already told him that we were nothing more than friends and business partners.

During our little tussle, I told Jasper that I was seeing someone back home. He'd taken the news pretty hard— much like I expected—but he was practically inconsolable when I explained to him that our sexual relationship was over now.

He had yet come to terms with that.

The ironic part was that our fight was based on the belief that I was lying to him, but it wasn't until he demanded the truth from me had I really  _started_  to lie to him.

Because the things that came out of my mouth about my special someone was a nothing but lies.

There was no secret lover back home, and in actuality, I was still a single woman. The only thing that was different was me. The feelings I harbored for a target were confusing and I didn't understand why things between Jasper had changed.

Why was it so hard to behave normally around him?

Perhaps it was guilt—or stupidity.

Either way, my feelings were dangerous.

The mark was forbidden.

It was exciting.

Rolling my eyes at him and my inner ramblings, I tilted my gun to the side to insert the magazine. I tapped it with the butt of my palm and popped it into place. "How can you be so sure of that, huh?"

"Because when you come, Bonita," he said, placing his hand on my leg and sliding it upwards, "I can feel you twitch and squeeze around me.”

His words were like satin and dripping with sex. If I was a weak woman, I would've probably begged him to take me.

As it were, I knew what he was up to and wasn't the type to be easily manipulated. 

I shook my head disapprovingly at him. "I'm not going to tell you who he is, Jasper. So, fucking drop it."

"Why won’t you tell me?" he pouted, jutting out his bottom lip.

I scoffed. "You know why."

"No, Bonita, I don't understand why you won't just tell me his name."

I propped up my gun, "Because, Jasper," and cocked it, "I don't want you to kill him."

He leaned back in his chair and smiled slyly at me, shaking his head. "You caught me."

***8*8*8*8***

**Sunday, January 16, 2011.**

**8:52am.**

_Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick._

The security was thick as they encircled the podium. The men stood in a line, forming a protective barrier as their eyes combed the area. Their ears were alert as they listened intently to the crowd of people.

They were prepared for whatever threat came their way.

The only problem was that they weren’t looking far enough into the distance. The buildings that surrounded the stage were clear, and that was true, but these fools expected the threat to be crouched down behind some hotel window like some fucking... _amateur_.

The real threat was less than five hundred meters away, on top of a hill, and overlooking the festive gathering. The assassin lay on their stomach, just waiting for the precise moment to pull the trigger.

That assassin was me.

My target was set to take the stage in eight minutes, but I was early. I needed time to get my scope locked in place, scan my surroundings, and make sure that I had a clean getaway. It was unlikely that they would know where to find me, but even if they were smart enough to figure it out, I would be long gone by then.

If shit did hit the fan and things were to go badly, I always had a plan B in place. It was rare for me to deviate from my original plans, but I wasn't about to get cocky and take my luck for granted.

That's how people get sloppy—and that's how assassins get themselves killed.

My bolt-action rifle legs were dug into the dirt, giving my gun a steady anchor. The power of this weapon had a fierce kickback and after the first time it bruised the shit out of my shoulder, I learned pretty quickly how to displace the force.

_Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick._

Less than two minutes left now.

The mark would be exiting the building from the right. He'll be climbing five steps to the stage and leading him right where I wanted him.

I've seen previous engagements of my mark's speeches and they were all the same...down to the very last detail.

Assassins liked routine.

It made killing the target that much easier.

_Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick._

Fifty seconds now.

Cocking my rifle and looking into my scope, I got visual of the target. He was standing off to the right, like I expected, and holding a stack of note cards in his hand.

The poor sap had his wife by his side, and I hoped she didn't stand too close to him when I fired off my shot.

Blood was hard to get out of expensive fabric and that outfit she was wearing looked rather pricey.

It was just mere seconds from him being announced to the stage...

_Tick tock. Tick tock. Your life clock is running out..._

My finger hovered over the trigger and I watched through my eye-piece, following the target’s every last step.

He got to the striking point and kissed his wife on the cheek. She took a seat behind him and I cringed at her placement. At this angle, he was going to be thrown back by the bullet, and most likely fall into his loving wife's arms.

It was tragically poetic.

However sad the situation may be, my orders were clear.

Kill him on the spot, and preferably before he had a chance to utter a single word.  

The target was a menace to conflict and war.

I decided to let him address his country...a final goodbye.

Then I aimed my sights on the spot right between his eyes and pulled the trigger. 

The cause and effect was instantaneous.

The bullet went straight through his head, and as I predicted, he went back into his unsuspecting wife's arms.

The hysteria was immense, and I watched for a few seconds as the security team pulled out their guns and searched for the killer. The crowd was going absolutely ape-shit and half of the shocked spectators rushed the stage, tending to their fallen hero.

The security team didn't have a chance, and were officially fucked by me and my employers.

Getting off the ground, I threw my black duffel bag over my shoulder and picked up my gun. I detached the scope and slide it into my back pocket. It was a nice piece and couldn't bear to part with it.

The canal was a few feet away and I tossed my gun into it as I passed. It hit the water with a large splash and sinking to the bottom, becoming nothing but a distant memory.

Adjusting my bag, I made my way over to the waiting car. Jasper had given me this piece of shit BMW to use and instructed me to torch it when I was done.

But setting the car ablaze seemed rather pointless, and I decided to sell it for parts instead.

It would be nice to have a little pocket money to get some food on the flight back home.

Opening the car door, I threw my bag on the passenger seat and got in.

Starting the ignition, I turned on the radio. As I pulled out, leaving a cloud of dust in my wake, a broadcaster was informing the city of Guayaquil of news I was already privy to.

_"El presidente ha recibido un disparo.”_

A second later, I received a text informing me that money was deposited into my bank account.

I was leaving the country thirty thousand dollars richer.

* **8*8*8*8***

It was Monday morning, and I'd been ignoring Edward's texts all weekend. He left a total of five on my phone, and I resisted the urge to reply to each and every one of them.

It seemed foolish to play these childish games with him, but I had to ensure his interest in me. If I played hard to get or seemed somehow unattainable to him, he would want me that much more.

It was a form of the human condition that I didn't understand, but I've caught on to that little dance that people do long ago.

Hell, my next door neighbor, Jacob, was a prime example. The more I'd treat him like shit, the harder he tried to date me.

It was silly and I wondered how anyone ever got together.

Other than that nonsense, my plan was simple. I was going to stalk the coffee shop and hope he showed up. It all depended on us running into each other again. 

Originally, I'd planned on doing all of this Tuesday, giving me enough time to recoup from my trip, but the second I stepped off the plane last night, Marcus was calling me.

He had some bad news.

Apparently there was a drastic change in the senior Cullen's health status. He was taken to the hospital on Sunday morning and put into the intensive care unit.

The prognosis wasn’t good and Marcus said that he was going to go any day now. This meant that I had to move things along more quickly.

So, I decided to come down to Edward's regular haunt today, just  _hoping_ that he would drop in...

God, where the fuck was he? 

It was already noon and I'd been here since nine this morning. People were starting to notice me, and that was something that I did  _not_  want.

The longer I sat there and waited for him to be a no-show, the more I assumed that my scheme to snag him was a failure.

And if that happened...well, I was as good as dead.

“There you are.” Relief washed over me as I recognized the velvet voice whispering into my ear. "Playing hard to get, are we?"

I smiled. "I don’t know what in the world you're talking about."

Edward came around to face me as he sat down in the chair. His dark hair with the reddish hues was mussed up and he looked so damn good.

Better than I remembered, in fact.

Two seconds in his presence and my will was already waning.

"Well, you haven't answered any of my texts," he said.

"How do you know for sure that you got my number right, huh?"

He looked at me sheepishly. "I called the phone company."

It was shocking to hear him to go to such lengths, but I knew as well as he did that it was a dead end.

"That's a huge invasion of privacy," I said.

"I was crazed." The tone of his voice was rough.

I cocked my eyebrow. “Crazed?”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you and…well, how else was I going to prove my sincerity to you?”

The man knew how to pass a test with flying colors, but what was the cost for such persistence?

“What is it that you want from me, Edward?" I asked, picking up my black iced coffee and holding it tightly in my hands.

We didn’t want another shirt-staining disaster.

"I haven't made my intentions clear?" he asked, surprised.

"Well, as far as I can tell, you want to wash my clothes and make me coffee."

He chuckled. "That sounds intimate…wait, does that mean you want me to stay overnight? You might want to slow down there, Bella. We barely know each other." 

I leaned back in my chair and chewed on my straw. "Do you think you're being cute?"

His eyes widened. "I'm not?"

"Nope," I said. "Annoying, maybe, but not cute."

He placed his hand on his heart and winced. "Oh, Ms. Swan, you've wounded me."

The air in my lungs ceased and my throat constricted, and I was suddenly drowning. The sound of my father's last name on his lips had caught me off guard. 

He knew who I really was...

"Swan?" I gulped. "How did you know my last name?"

"I already told you."

"But my number," I stammered, "isn’t in my name."

"Yeah, I know. Apparently it’s a disposable phone with prepaid minutes, and it wasn't under  _any_ name. So, I had to get creative."

"Creative how?"

God, if he knew my name, did he also know about my line of work?

_No, that’s impossible._

If there was one thing about me, I covered my tracks with every job. The business deals were always done in secret and my bank accounts were hidden. There was not a single trace of evidence for Edward to stumble upon.

I had to remind myself that the name Swan was of public record.

He didn’t know anything more than that.

"Well,” he said, breaking me out of my inner panic, “I'm not sure I should tell you."

"Why not?” I asked, slightly irritated. “Are you afraid you'll freak me out?"

He shrugged. "Kind of."

"Well, we're way past that, Edward. Believe me."

He nodded as he took in my words. "Is that why you've been ignoring my texts?"

"No,” I sighed, “that's not why..."

"I'm intense," he surmised.

"Very intense...and not like anything I expected."

"Just let me take you to dinner, Bella, and I'll explain everything to you."

"I'm not sure if that's such a good idea."

"What, why not?” he asked, somewhat frantic.

"You just admitted to stalking me!" I laughed.

"I didn't say I stalked you," he said. "I just did a background check...please, one dinner, Bella. That’s all I ask."

"After all you’ve done, checking up on me and what not, you still want to take me out to dinner?" I asked, shocked.

“Coffee and dessert, too." He quickly amended.

I shook my head in disbelief, chuckling softly."Anything else you want, Mister…"

“Cullen,” he said, offering me a smile and his hand. “Edward Cullen.”

I stared at his gesture distrustfully. “You got a middle name?”

"No..." he said, dropping his hand.

The fight I was putting up was pointless. The lines between mark and suitor were getting blurred and I had to regain control of the situation.

The man in front of me wasn’t someone with a future.

No, I was going to take that away from him.

Succumbing to both of our fates, I sighed. "When do you want to do this?"

He snapped his head up at me and his eyes looked…hopeful. "Is tonight too soon?"

I groaned. "Tonight?"

"Please."

"Ugh, I know I am going to regret this...Fine! Pick me up at seven. I'm assuming you know where."

My apartment was under a different name and I knew that he was going to have some difficulty finding it, but if he managed to come across my old and forgotten name, Swan, well…

"I'll figure it out." He smirked.

"Yeah, I bet," I said, rising from my seat and throwing my satchel over my shoulder.

"I promise that I won't research you anymore," he said as he quickly grabbed my hand, sending a surge of electricity through me and making the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

"Yeah, well, it’s too late for all that, Mr. Cullen," I said, yanking my hand away and breaking the connection. "You already know too much."

"Does this mean that you're going to kill me now?" he asked, half-joking.

"No..." I chuckled, bending down and turning my tone serious as I whispered into his ear. "Not yet."   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> "Era fácil," he said, waving me off. "I pick lock." ("It was easy," he said, waving me off. "I pick lock.")  
> "Usted loca mujer," he muttered. ("You crazy woman," he muttered.)  
> "Jesucristo. ¿Cuál es tu problema?" he asked. ("Jesus Christ. What is your problem?" he asked.)  
> "No entiendo, hermosa. Esto nunca se preocupó—” ("I do not understand, beautiful. This never worried-")  
> "Look at you. You push me away and treat me like a cabrón. So, what am I to think? I think that you seeing some pendejo. That he fills you and your bed now...but, you lie to me, Isabel, and say that this is not true." ("Look at you. You push me away and treat me like a bastard. So, what am I to think? I think that you seeing some asshole. That he fills you and your bed now ... but you lie to me, Isabel, and say that this is not true. ")  
> “No, I don’t think, Bonita, I know, okay?" he paused as he leaned into me, lowering his voice to a deep and husky tone. “¿Cuántas veces usted se retuercen y tiemblan debajo de mí, bella?” ("No, I do not think, Bonita, I know, okay?" he paused as he leaned into me, lowering His voice to a deep and husky tone. "How many times you squirm and tremble under me, beautiful?")  
> "El presidente ha recibido un disparo.”( "The president has been shot.")  
> Hermosa, Bonita, and Bella- beautiful


End file.
